The Adventures of the Balowski Five
by IMeMine
Summary: What will happen when the boys get a band together? Will they pick up any groupies at their gig? Will Mike be the first to score with any groupies they do pick up? And what about the lentils? (3rd chapter uploaded!)
1. The Balowski Five

NOTE: I own none of these characters, nor did I invent most of them. Yay for Msrs. Elton and Mayall!  
  
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*****  
Ch. 1: The Balowski Five  
(though there are indeed only four of them)  
***** Rick examined the Fender guitar he held in his hands. "How extraordinary! Finding this in the gutter outside!"  
"It's not bloody extraordinary!" exclaimed Vyvyan, walking through the kitchen. "It's mine. I was warm last night, so I chucked it through the window."  
"And now I've found it, so it's mine. Finders keepers, losers weepers!" Rick caressed the guitar, which, upon further examination, did indeed say in large black lettering on the back: VYVYANS TOUCH AND RICK DIES. Seeing this, he quickly flipped it over. "Look at me! I'm Cliff Richards!" He strummed, resulting in a muted humming.  
"Give my guitar back, you poof! It's bloody mine! I stole your piggy bank, and I bought it last week." Vyvyan grabbed the guitar back from Rick, and raised it to smash it over his head, but stopped just before it made contact. "See! I wouldn't smash my own guitar. If it was yours, I'd smash your face in with it!"  
"He's right, Rick. It is his. We've got our own little band going." Mike said nonchalantly, examining his nails. "Everyone knows that singers get chicks. I thought it would do Vyv some good. I certainly don't need it." He winked at Rick, who, though thoroughly flabbergasted at this new information, was also seething with anger.  
"You started a band without me?" The spotty lower lip started to tremble. "Not that I need help getting girls either, but I like rock and roll as much as the next student! Didn't you think that I might want to be involved?"  
"Well, yah, we did, Rick, honest we did. But Neil said you probably wouldn't want to join, and-" Mike was cut off by a livid Rick.  
"Neil is in the band and I'm not? That's it!" He picked up SPG, who squealed in protest.  
"Let me down, Laddy!"  
"Let me join, or." he thought for a moment. "Or I give your disgusting rat to Neil to cook for supper tonight!"  
"It'll certainly be better than lentils." Vyv said calmly, before lighting a fag, and putting it to the back of Rick's hand.  
"OOOOOOOOWWWWWWWWWWW!" Rick put his burn to his mouth. "Fine! See if I even want to be in your stupid band. I bet you just play some kind of stupid 'punk rock' music. I wouldn't join if you paid me, actually."  
A musty smell wafted down the stairs, closely followed by Neil. "Hey, Rick. I've been trying to find you all morning. I was wondering if you might want to join a little band me and Vyvyan and Mike have going. It's going to be totally cool."  
Rick grinned. "Haha, he does want me to be in it!" Mike put his head in his hands.  
"Neil."  
"Oops, sorry, Mike. Was I not supposed to invite Rick to join?" Neil asked, puzzled. "It's just that I'm never, like, let in on any decisions you guys make, right, and it's kind of bringing me down." He walked over to the stove, and looked in the pot. "Vyv, do you know that SPG is in the pot? I could cook him for you guys, but, you know, I'm a vegetarian, right, so I still need something to eat."  
"You are not cooking SPG, you hippie!" yelled Vyvyan. He strode over to fetch his pet, but Rick stopped him.  
"Then will you let me join your band?" he said, reaching for the gas on the stove.  
"Fine. You can play bloody drums," grunted Vyvyan.  
"Great idea, Vyv, except there's one problem." Mike pointed out. "Rick, do you know how to play the skins?"  
Rick squirmed. "Well, not play, per say, but I can just kind of stand there and look like an anarchist!" He waved his hips in a vain attempt at a sexy dance, and waved his hands in the air, making a peace sign. Vyvyan gave him the two-finger salute back.  
"No, no, Vyvyan. This is peace, not a two-finger salute! This," he said, turning it around, "is a bloody salute!" Seeing this, Vyvyan grabbed the pot that still contained his hamster, and biffed Rick on the head with it.  
"Well, if you must be in it, Rick, we've got rehearsal today in the garden," Mike said, still not looking up from his paper.  
"No, no, Mike, I'm meeting my friend Neil today, we can't have rehearsal!" Neil protested, but Mike held up a firm hand.  
"Neil, I said we've got rehearsal today in the garden, so when do we have rehearsal?"  
"Today in the garden, Mike, but, like, I really don't think it's fair, right, to have it on the only day I, like, have any sort of plans at all."  
"Well, that's a bit too bad, isn't it Neil. Because if we don't rehearse, we're going to sound bloody awful tomorrow!" Vyvyan looked around at the bare table. "And where the hell is my tea?"  
"I haven't made it yet, actually, because we're out of tea! If you really want your tea, Vyv, maybe you should go down to the shops yourself some time!"  
"I could, and I do, when I'm out of vodka. But as I am currently very well stocked on vodka, and not as well on tea, I want you to go to the shops and get tea, you bastard!" he yelled. All this talk of vodka had apparently made him very thirsty, for he opened up the fridge, and took a swig of the only thing in it, an almost full bottle of cheap vodka.  
"Yes, Neil, the only thing in this house is Vyvyan's disgusting alcohol. Did you ever think that the rest of us might want to eat, too?" spat Rick.  
"Look, chaps, tell you what. Mike Thecoolperson will treat you all to fish and chips after the gig tomorrow."  
Rick's face lit up. "A gig! Tomorrow? What're we playing."  
"Well, I'm playing guitar, Mike's playing bass, Neil's playing guitar, and you said you'd play the fekkin' drums, Rick. And-"  
"No, Vyvyan, I meant what songs are we playing?"  
"Well, we've some awful piece of dung by Alexei Balowski, requests of his uncle Jerzei, an original piece I made up called 'Rick's an Ugly Bastard', and some hippie song that Neil's got."  
"It's called Hurdy Gurdy Mushroom Man!" Neil put in, pouring some vodka into the tea kettle.  
"Whatever. We're playing at the Kebab and Calculator tomorrow at five, courtesy of our manager," completed Mike.  
"And I suppose our manager is Thatcher, the way this band is being run," Rick snorted.  
"No, actually, its-" but Neil was cut off by an explosion outside.  
"Boys! Oh boys!" a voice came from outside.  
"Oh, hello Jerzei," Mike looked up (finally!) from his newspaper to greet their landlord. "Was there a particular reason you had to blow off the door?"  
Vyvyan giggled. "No, no, Michael, you see, that was me! I fixed it so that whenever someone rang the door bell, the door would explode! Pretty clever, eh?"  
"No, Vyvyan, it wasn't clever, it was stupid. Now we have to buy a new door every time someone rings the bloody doorbell!"  
"Ya, well, I don't see you doing anything to stop me!" screamed Vyvyan.  
"Because I didn't know it was going on, you stupid. oh never mind!" Rick clammed up, seeing the livid expression on Vyvyan's face. "Well, who is our manager?"  
Balowski waved at him, and Rick made a terrible face. "Our landlord is our manager?"  
"It's the only way we could get him to let us practice in the house, you see." Mike explained.  
"Yes, my favorite Balowski Five!" exclaimed the landlord.  
"But Jerzei, there's only four of us!"  
Balowski stared pointedly at Mike. "Yes, well, that's what's so funny about it! Hahahahaha!"  
"Mad as a kipper," Rick whispered in Neil's ear.  
"Right, well, goodbye Mr. Balowski, and we'll see you tomorrow at the gig, alrite?" Mike asked, ushering him out of the house.  
"Look, Mike, I'm going down to the shops, I guess. I'll be back in time for rehearsal today, alright?" Neil said sullenly, following the chuckling landlord out the void where the door had once been. 


	2. Rehearsal

************************************************************************ Ch. 2: Rehearsal ************************************************************************  
  
The sun shone down on the garden as the boys set up their gear. Vyvyan, Mike, and Neil tuned their instruments, while Rick just watched with eyebrows raised. His drums remained untouched.  
  
"I can't help but think that there might be a better place to practice, Mike," Neil mused. "I mean, there's all kinds of stuff here that we don't want on our instruments. There's mud and fertilizer, and-"  
  
"Oh, there you go again, Neil, always whining! A little mud never hurt anyone!" mocked Rick. He leaned back on his stool, and continued to watch the scene calmly. Vyvyan was hitting his guitar with a pitchfork Mike was standing with his bass casually, as always, and Neil was stroking his guitar and talking to it.  
  
"It's alright, you'll do great. It'll be alright, Martha," he soothed.  
  
"Martha? You've given your guitar a GIRL'S name?" mocked Vyvyan. "That's the stuuupidist thing I've ever heard, Neil!"  
  
"Shhh. Don't listen to him, Martha. He's just trying to bring us down."  
  
"Now me, I've given mine a cool name!" Vyvyan went on.  
  
"What, did you name it Mike?" asked the bass player.  
  
Vyvyan looked at him, confused for a moment, before shaking his head in disgust. "No, Michael. Its name is Special Patrol Group!" He smiled, and hit his guitar again.  
  
"Vyvyan," Rick interjected nastily, "Vyvyan, that's your hamster's name."  
  
"Yah, I know! See, I figure if my hamster and my guitar have the same name, then I'll only have to remember one name for the both of them, you see!"  
  
"But what if you, like, get confused which is which, Vyv? Like, you say 'Rick, could you hand me SPG,' but Rick won't know which one you mean, you know?" To clarify, Neil waved his hands, trying to indicate a confusing situation.  
  
"Well, even if he asked me to fetch him a tangerine, I wouldn't get it for him, so it doesn't matter which one he's talking about, really," guffawed Rick. He smoothly tried to twirl one of his drum sticks, but ended up dropping in the muck.  
  
"Haha, prick," laughed Vyvyan. "You're almost as hopeless as Neil!"  
  
"He's right, Rick," Mike agreed.  
  
"Oh, really, guys, am I even more hopeless than Rick?" the hippie moaned.  
  
"Um... yah," Vyvyan decided.  
  
"No, not really, Neil. But I hadn't said anything in a while," Mike chuckled, as he removed his sunglasses and winked. "If I don't say anything, some of the girls might be disappointed. Until I get them upstairs, that is."  
  
"Um, Michael, what girls would these be? The girliest thing around here is Rick, and even he only owns one dress!" Vyvyan looked at Mike with a confused expression. Mike gave him a pitying look.  
  
"Vyv, you're forgetting Neil's guitar."  
  
"And the fact that, actually, Vyvyan, I own two dresses, thank you!" declared Rick acidly, before realizing what he'd said. "I mean, um, I, um..."  
  
"Own two dresses, you fairy. Now can we please rehearse! I'm so bored, I think I might have to kill Rick to spark the smallest amount of interest in anything!" Vyvyan screamed at the other three. They looked at each other.  
  
"Uh, yah, Vyv, alright. I guess, if you're all tuned and everything," Neil nodded sagely.  
  
"What do you think I've been hitting it with this fork with? Haven't you ever heard of a bloody tuning fork, Neil?" But before the hippie could answer, he shoved the pitchfork within an inch of Neil's nose. "Well, it looks like this! Now can we get started before Rick starts talking again, please?"  
  
"Alright, Vyvyan, keep your pants on. Teach me how," Mike said with a nod and a winning smile.  
  
"Now, I've been thinking that we should start with 'Rick's an Ugly Bastard', you know, to get people moving. It's quite danceable, really. Goes like this," and Vyvyan began to sing.  
  
RICK'S AN UGLY BASTARD HE RIGHT AND TRULY IS HE WEARS GIRLY DRESSES AND IS A POOF AND I WOULD LIKE TO SHOVE SOMETHING HOT AND METAL UP HIS BOTTOM.  
  
Unfortunately, his singing was really more like screaming punctuated with short, badly fingered guitar chords.  
  
"I bet you would like to stick something up my bottom, Vyvyan, but it's never going to happen," Rick said snidely. "And anyway, your song is filth. No one's going to dance to that. 'Cept maybe some of your stupid punk friends." He sniggered, satisfied with his little joke.  
  
"Yes. Probably," agreed Vyvyan, not seeing what Rick found so funny. "And if you don't stop laughing... oh, what the hell, I'm getting tired of bloody warnings." He grabbed a garden gnome, and smashed Rick over the head with it. He fell in the mud.  
  
"Oh, Vyv, you've broken Shirley!" exclaimed Neil mournfully.  
  
"SHIRLEY?!? Do you give everything you own fucking girls' names?" Vyvyan yelped.  
  
"No, Vyvyan. His friend's name is Neil, you see, that's a boy's name," Mike pointed out.  
  
"No it isn't, judging by THIS Neil," giggled Rick from the ground.  
  
"I think we've rehearsed enough, guys," Neil pleaded worriedly. "Let's stop before it gets any more violent!"  
  
"It seems not violent enough, actually, but alright," Vyvyan agreed grudgingly. "As long as I get to set Rick's bedroom on fire when we get inside."  
  
"Oh, right, like, shouldn't we do something with Rick?" asked Neil agitatedly.  
  
"I'm alright, Neil. I really am. In fact," Rick said with a laugh as he jumped up, "I was never really hurt at all, really! It was a joke! And you all fell for it!"  
  
"Ha. Ha," Mike laughed dryly. "Let's take this inside, boys."  
  
Neil lovingly put Martha into her case, murmuring all the while.  
  
"Neil, would you please shut up? You're making me disgustingly and violently ill!" Vyvyan yelled as he shouldered his Fender and clumped inside, closely followed by Mike, who still had his bass around his neck. Little did they know what awaited them at their gig, less than 24 hours away... 


	3. Down the Kebab and Calculator

  
Ch. 3:  
Down the Kebab and Calculator  
(Donner kebab? But I've already eaten!)  
  
"Guys, I'm nervous," Neil whimpered. "We haven't practiced nearly enough." He thought for a moment. "We haven't really practiced at all! When we tried to rehearse, Vyvyan just ended up breaking a garden gnome over Rick's head." The other three gave him a look that said We were there. It was yesterday, you know. "In case you'd forgotten," clarified the hippy.  
  
Mike sighed, exasperated with his fellow's obvious stupidity. "Neil, don't worry. As soon as I get onstage, no one will care about the music, if you know what I mean." He continued to stride more quickly than the other three, despite his shorter legs.  
  
"Mike, I must say, it was very nice of you to make me carry your bass as well as my drums. They're really rather heavy. But are you sure you don't want to take it back now?" Rick called from down the block. Indeed, he was lugging both a large set of drums and a bass.  
  
"Thanks for the offer, Rick, but I'm good as I am," Mike asserted with a wink.  
  
"Oh, good. Great, Mike," Rick said with a forced smile.  
  
"Hurry up, you pansy!" yelled the punk. "I want to hear the end of the Killer Buzzsaw's set!"  
  
"Well, considering you like them, I don't particularly care, actually, Vyvyan! In case you haven't noticed, we don't exactly share a taste in music," Rick said haughtily. "I like Cliff Richards, and you seem to be more of a Sex Pistols person. I don't consider the Sex Pistols to be particularly sophisticated, if you know what I mean."  
  
"Yes, well, we also don't share a bed, but it doesn't mean we can't both enjoy them! They're bloody brilliant!" Vyvyan roared. "Not that I'd ever want to share a bed with you, you fairy!"  
  
"Guys, guys, we shouldn't be fighting like this!" Neil protested  
  
"Then how should they be fighting, Neil? I think they're doing a pretty good job at it, actually," Mike gave another suave wink.  
  
"Have you got something in your eye, Michael?" Vyvyan asked. "It's only that you keep blinking."  
  
"No, Vyvyan," Rick spat acidly. "He's winking! It's supposed to be sexy."  
  
"And I suppose you find it sexy, don't you, you poofy virgin!" Vyvyan said, adjusting his hold on his guitar.  
  
"No, of course not, Vyvyan! And I am NOT a virgin!"  
  
"Virgin! Virgin! Virgin! Rick is a virgin!" Vyvyan yelled loudly in a sing-songy voice. For good measure, he kicked Rick in the backside, making him nearly drop the instruments loaded in his arms. "That'd be a good addition to the song I'm writing."  
  
"Oh, are you writing another song, Vyv?" asked Neil innocently.  
  
"Yah, it's quite inspired, actually. It goes like this:  
THERE'S A GUY I KNOW NAMED RICK  
HE'S RATHER A PRICK  
HE'S A POOF AND A FAIRY  
AND HE'S ALSO VERY  
UUUUUGGGGGLLLLYY!  
HE'S A VIRGIN  
A VIRGIN  
A VIRGIN  
OH YEEEAAAHH!"  
  
"That is the worst piece of drivel I have ever heard, Vyvyan. I certainly hope you aren't planning on performing that tonight!" Rick protested.  
  
"I was, actually, but I suppose, just since you don't like it, I could take it off the program, just for you, Rick," Vyvyan answered sardonically. He, Neil, and Mike entered the back door of the Kebab and Calculator, with Rick still lagging behind with the overload of instruments.  
  
"Hurry up, Rick! We go on in half an hour!" Mike called down the block, sticking his head out the door.  
  
"Well, Mike, if you could just give me a hand with your bass, I might be able to get there by then....." Rick hinted, but Mike just stood, watching, with a bemused look. "No, no, of course not. Be there in a minute!"  
  
(a minute goes by.....)  
  
"See, Mike, I told you I'd be here!" Rick exclaimed.  
  
"Yeah, Rick, but now we're not there anymore, we're here." This was true. Vyvyan, Mike, and Neil had moved on stage, setting up their equipment.  
  
"Oh, right, that's just typical, isn't it? Leave the anarchist to carry all the gear, that's right!"  
  
"What are you on about, Rick? We're not making you carry the stuff because you're an anarchist," guaranteed Neil, defensively.  
  
"Yeah. It's because you're a bastard," Vyvyan interjected. Mike and Neil nodded their unabashed agreement.  
  
"Well, fine then! Maybe I'll just quit the band! Let's see how you like that!" fumed Rick. In response, Mike and Vyvyan slapped hands. Rick realized his mistake. "Actually," he clarified, "actually, I wouldn't leave if you shook my hand and called me Rita!" He thought hard for a moment. "I mean, unless you..... gave......me...... money?" He nodded, satisfied with his insufficient and too-late retort.  
  
An oily man in checkered trousers came out from back-stage. "You boys, er, almost ready then, are you?"  
  
"Yes, thank you Mr. Blighter. We'll be ready in a moment," Mike replied. The pub was beginning to fill with dead-beats and punks, muttering among themselves about the expected lack of quality at the show. 


End file.
